In the Blink of an Eye
by sendintheclowns
Summary: An accident forces the brothers to make some changes.  Will they adapt or will things fall apart?  A smattering of Hurt!Dean followed by a huge helping of Limp!Sam.
1. Before

Summary: An accident forces the brothers to make some changes. Will they adapt or will things fall apart? A smattering of Hurt!Dean followed by a huge helping of Limp!Sam.

A/N: I owe a huge thank you to Faye Dartmouth for her patient and steady beta on this fic. Of course I mucked around after she worked her magic so all errors you find are mine.

**In the Blink of an Eye**

The Impala hugged the curves of the winding road as the sunshine filtered down through the trees and dappled the road with shadows. Outside it was peaceful and calm but inside it was a little more turbulent. And Dean wouldn't have it any other way.

Dean was currently partaking in one of his favorite pastimes – Sammy baiting. It was the ultimate fall back position when he was bored. And as much as he enjoyed being out on the road, driving the Impala and listening to his music, occasionally he needed a little more stimulation.

And Dean couldn't help but tease his brother. Sam got all quiet and pissy and crossed his arms over his chest…it was his brotherly duty to put his baby brother in his place.

Things were a bit too quiet at the moment so Dean decided to play the instigator. "I haven't seen another car since we got on this road. Are you sure this is a short cut and not another infamous Sammy road that leads us nowhere?" Dean asked, needling his brother. Sam was obsessive compulsive when it came to preparing for a trip and nothing drove him crazier than items disappearing or losing their way.

They were truly in the middle of nowhere. They couldn't even get reception on the handheld GPS. They were at the mercy of a standard map. A map that seemed to have gone missing.

Dean glanced at his brother and noticed that Sam's face was suffused with pink. He was getting under his skin. "No, I'm not sure because someone moved the map. What did you do with it?" Sam heaved a sigh in exasperation. "Did you eat it?"

"Ha, ha. So you do have a sense of humor. You've been sitting over there glowering for so long I thought you'd lost that, too," Dean fired back. The lines in Sam's face shifted from petulance to full frown.

"Nice, really nice. Seriously, where did you put the map?" Sam asked as he scowled. Dean saw his brother lift his legs us and look beneath them.

Sam was definitely Felix to Dean's Oscar. They were the 21st century Odd Couple.

Dean freely admitted that the Impala needed a good cleaning out but in his defense, they had logged a lot of hours on the road lately. Actually, the car needed to be shoveled out. It was a pigsty with abandoned wrappers, cups, and cans littering the floor along with salt pellets and random bullet casings.

No wonder Sam was a little cranky. His ideal, orderly world was in shambles. Dean knew he should throttle back a little and ease up but he couldn't without one final dig. "Gees, Sam. Would you simmer down? I think I shoved it down under your seat," Dean replied.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sam lean his long body over and start fishing around under the seat. "It must have slipped farther back," Dean innocently said as he watched Sam undo the seatbelt from around his lap and contort himself further in an attempt to find the elusive map.

Sam was twisted up like a pretzel, his knees almost bumping around his ears as he cast his hands far and wide, trying to make contact with the missing map.

Dean knew where the map was, safe and sound on the floor at his feet, but he liked yanking Sam's chain. His brother took everything so seriously these days. Yes, it was true, Sam had lost a lot in his young life – mother, girlfriend, father, potential career – but he was still alive. Instead of embracing that he was currently funneling all of his energy into worrying about the Yellow Eyed Demon. Sure, YED was a viable threat that needed to be dealt with but Sam was still young and vital. And instead of making use of it, he wasted it, acting like an old man. Old before his time.

Okay, so maybe there was more to it than that. Dean wanted to have a little fun. He was sick of all of the Sturm und Drang of the last year. He wanted to forget about the Yellow Eyed Demon. He wanted to forget about his dad trading his life for Dean's. He wanted to enjoy his brother's company without talking every little thing to death.

And right now he wanted to mess with his brother a little.

Dean was ripped from his musings when a bright orange rubber ball followed by a child darted out into their path. "SHIT!" Dean cried out.

Dean stood on the brakes and swerved around the clueless child. The Impala slid on some loose gravel and fishtailed until the front end of the car smacked into a tree set just off the road.

Dean's chest rammed full force into the steering wheel and the pain left him gasping for breath. God, he hoped he hadn't cracked any ribs. That was a bitch.

Taking stock of himself and realizing the only source of injury was the pain radiating from his chest, he glanced over to find Sam crumpled up in a heap under the dashboard.

"Sammy!" Dean scrambled out of his door and ran around to the passenger side. Despite the pain in his chest, he leaned over and tried to untangle Sam's limbs. Bracing himself, he tugged his brother out of the car and laid him on the ground.

"Sammy?" he called and lightly patted his brother's cheek. Sam must have smacked his head on the dashboard.

So much for fun and games.

Dean didn't want to panic. Not yet. But anytime something happened to his younger brother, he felt responsible. Although this time he really was at fault, at least in part. If he hadn't been screwing around, teasing his brother about the map, Sam would have had his seatbelt on. Having it on was no guarantee that he wouldn't have been hurt, but right now he was out cold.

Dean held his breath as Sam groaned. A moment later his eyes blinked open. Dean sat back on his heels, relieved that Sam was conscious.

"Who are you?" Sam asked, his forehead scrunching in confusion. His voice held a hint of bewilderment.

For a moment Dean was nonplussed. That must have been one whack on the head. But then Dean realized Sam was looking over his shoulder and he turned to find himself eye to eye with a four or five year old little girl with blond pigtails holding the orange ball that had caused all of the commotion.

"My name is Stacy but I'm not supposed to talk to strangers," she recited and then smiled as if proud of herself.

"I bet you're not supposed to run out into the road either," Dean sniped. When Stacy looked at him with her innocent big blue eyes he felt guilty. "Are you okay?" Dean asked gently. He didn't feel like being gentle; thanks to Stacy his car would most likely need some work and they were almost out of money, Sam looked pale and woozy, and his own chest was throbbing with each breath.

"Stacy?" a frantic voice called from the other side of the road. A large man sprinted over to them and snatched the blond girl up in a fierce hug. He had shaggy dark hair and a Tom Selleck mustache. "You okay, pumpkin?" he asked as he looked her over closely.

"Orange got away from me so I ran after it and then there was a crash," she explained solemnly.

Dean shifted his weight, trying to find a more comfortable position. He wanted to straighten up to relieve some of the pressure on his chest but he didn't want to move that far from his brother. He forced himself to remain in a crouch with a hand on Sam's shoulder.

He watched the family drama unfold before him. "You know you're supposed to stay out of the road. Now take the ball back to the house and I'll be there in a moment," he instructed as he looked both ways before setting her on her feet and giving her a pat to send her in motion. Stacy dutifully trotted across the road and disappeared up a driveway.

"Oh my God. Are you boys okay?" the tall, muscular man asked. Now that he was closer, Dean could see his hair was graying at the temples yet his face was unlined.

Sam levered himself up on his forearms and Dean extended a hand to pull Sam up off of the ground the rest of the way. Dean tried to hide his pain, but the hiss of breath from pulling up Sam's weight was inevitable and did not escape his brother's notice.

"Ribs?" Sam asked as he tried to adjust to being upright. Dean could tell his brother was dizzy and off balance. He could also see that Sam was equally concerned about Dean's injuries. It hadn't taken long for his younger brother to figure out that he underplayed his injuries so as not to worry him. But then again Sam could be accused of the same thing. They both shared that macho Winchester gene.

"Let me call an ambulance. I think you need to be looked at," the man insisted, watching their pained interactions critically.

Dean looked wistfully at the Impala for a moment before responding, "Actually, I think we'll be okay but if you know the number of a garage I think my car could use some help." The rumpled hood of his car resembled an accordion. He wouldn't be able to drive it in its current condition.

The man pulled thoughtfully at his mustache for a moment. "My name is Shawn Smith. I'm very sorry that my daughter caused your accident. I'll pay for the damages to the car. I'm so grateful to you for missing my baby in the road like that," he said as he glanced back across the road. "Speaking of Stacy, I need to check on her. If you're sure you won't let me call the ambulance, I insist on taking you back to the house," Shawn finished with determination on his face.

Dean waited for Sam to respond. Usually he let Sam do the talking with the locals. His younger brother just had an earnestness about him that touched people. When Sam didn't answer, Dean turned his head and saw his brother weaving a little. "That's very kind of you," Dean said, taking the initiative and introducing themselves to Shawn.

Dean would have preferred to get back on the road but since that wasn't possible he'd settle for getting Sam inside so he could check him over more closely for a head injury.

----------

Shawn had shown them into what turned out to be a palatial looking mansion tucked back from the road. He steered them into what he referred to as the guest wing which consisted of two bedrooms, a large bathroom and a sitting room. After instructing the boys to make themselves comfortable, he left them alone to call the garage and chase down Stacy.

Dean maneuvered Sam into the nearest bedroom and settled him carefully on the bed. He was concerned by the way Sam kept listing to the right as they had walked through the house as well as his silence.

Gently grasping Sam under the chin he tilted his head back so he could check his brother's pupils. They looked to be of equal size and reactive to light.

Holding a finger up he asked Sam to track its movement. Sam easily followed its movement and then batted Dean's hand away. "Enough already. I'm fine," he said as he lightly massaged his temples.

Dean wasn't sold on that but he let it go. There were some red marks on Sam's forehead but other than that there didn't appear to be any other overt signs of head injury.

Dean straightened up and couldn't prevent another hiss of pain from escaping his mouth. Before he could protest, Sam was up on his feet. "Show me," he insisted.

Dean reluctantly pulled his shirt up to expose his chest. Sam gasped in sympathy. A bright red mark covered most of Dean's chest but particularly the area over his heart.

"Dean, man, I know you don't want to hear this but we need to get this checked out," Sam said as studied what would soon be a spectacular bruise.

"I feel fine," Dean insisted. Well, as fine as you could feel when your chest was on fire. But what Sammy didn't know couldn't hurt him.

"But your heart--I don't want to take any chances," Sam said. Both brothers remembered all too well their scare last year when Dean's heart had been damaged on a hunt and he would have died if not for the help of a pseudo faith healer and a reaper.

Dean had felt physically well since that incident and tended to put it out of his mind. He didn't like to think of Layla. He should have died; Layla should have lived. But he was alive and Sam was pleading with his eyes and he didn't have the strength to say no.

He sat down on the edge of the bed as dizziness assailed him. Maybe seeing a doctor was a good idea. "Fine, we'll go to the doctor…" Dean's voice trailed off since Sam had already left the room to chase down their host. He was just going to lie down for a moment and then he'd be ready to go.

----------

When Sam returned to the room he found his brother passed out which left Sam in a panic. He knew Dean had been hurt more badly than he'd let on. Dean just couldn't get it into his thick head that Sam worried about him, too.

Shawn summoned an ambulance and assured Sam he would pay for Dean's medical attention. Sam appreciated the offer but at the moment he was more concerned with Dean's condition.

The paramedics allowed Sam to accompany Dean and they arrived at the nearest hospital in thirty minutes. They seemed to think Dean had a collapsed lung. His blood pressure was low, his heart rate was up and when the paramedic tapped on part of his chest he said it sounded hollow. All of this information was relayed to the hospital and they were met at the ambulance port by a trauma team who whisked Dean away for x-rays. Sam was left, alone, sitting in the waiting room.

Sam kept staring at the clock and then his watch. He was going out of his mind with worry. It had been over an hour and no one would tell him what was going on. His head was killing him and he wanted some aspirin or something but was afraid they'd put him in an exam room and start poking and prodding him. He needed to be here for Dean and if he ended up doped up on painkillers or hooked up to an IV, he couldn't do that very well.

"Family of Rick Nielsen?" a voice startled Sam out of his thoughts causing him to flinch. That was the ID Dean currently was using, in honor of the guitarist for Cheap Trick. He almost hadn't recognized it even though he'd filled out paper work using it when they had first arrived at the hospital.

Sam carefully stood up, waiting for his head to stop spinning, and crossed over to a nurse holding a clipboard.

The nurse consulted her papers before speaking. "Mr. Nielsen had a pneumothorax, a collapsed lung. I understand he was in a car accident and this condition can be caused by blunt trauma. The doctor was able to remove the air in the pleural cavity. It looks like Mr. Nielsen will be okay," she finished.

"If you'll come this way you can see your…I'm sorry what's your relation to Mr. Nielsen?" she asked as she guided Sam over to a bank of elevators.

He was having trouble thinking. He was so relieved Dean was going to be okay. "Sir? Are you okay?" the nurse asked when Sam didn't answer her question.

"Sorry. Are you sure Rick is okay?" he asked. He was afraid to let his guard down. Dean had been so still in the ambulance and he'd been frantic with worry. He needed his big brother to be okay.

The nurse gave Sam a critical look before responding. "He's been sedated and we'd like to keep him for a couple of days for observation but he should be as good as new in a couple of weeks. He's in room 305. Right this way. The doctor will come by shortly to answer any questions you have," she said as she walked Sam down the hallway. Sam turned to thank her but she had already moved on.

He made his way over to the bed and looked at his pale brother. There was a monitor on Dean's chest and another clamped on to his finger. Sam carefully avoided the wires and IV so that he could pick up Dean's hand. Pulling a chair over he perched on the edge and hesitantly held his brother's hand.

Sam wanted to sob his relief was so great. But Dean wouldn't appreciate that. He needed to be strong. Strong and silent. No tears allowed when you were a Winchester. Hell, Dean hadn't even cried when their dad died. Sam hadn't been so composed but he'd made a vow to be there for his brother. And if that meant sucking up how he felt and keeping it inside, he could do it. For Dean.

On top of the relief, Sam felt guilty. He should have insisted on taking Dean to the hospital right away but his brain had been so fuzzy. And Dean kept saying he was okay. Okay. Since when was a collapsed lung okay? Dean's 'don't worry because I'm the big brother and I'll be just fine' shtick was growing old fast. Dean could be so exasperating. But the important thing was that it sounded like he would be okay.

----------

Dean struggled to open his eyes. Someone must have glued them shut. And something was tugging on his arm. He shifted restlessly. He couldn't get comfortable. And why the hell did the sheets smell like antiseptic? He heard a low, calming voice said, "Just relax."

Sam was in the room with him. Dean forced his eyes open and saw Sam standing next to him. His brother looked like crap. "Sammy? You okay?" Dean asked after clearing his throat. He was flat on his back with wires and an IV sticking out of him.

He remembered lying down on the bed at Shawn's house and then it was a blank.

Sam shook his head and chuckled. "Am I okay? You're the one in the hospital. You scared the crap out of me."

"What happened?" Dean asked. His brow was crinkled and he sounded petulant. Sam knew his brother wished he could remember on his own. He didn't like being at the mercy of others. Even to fill in the blanks.

Sam relaxed marginally. It had seemed like a lifetime but in reality it had been about eight hours since they'd allowed him to sit with Dean. He had been on the verge of panic but now that Dean was awake he was starting to believe he would be okay. "You had a collapsed lung but they took care of it. Why didn't you tell me you were hurt that bad?" Sam said as he hooked a chair over and sat next to his brother.

Dean put a hand to his chest and lightly touched it. Other then a slight pressure he felt pretty good which was a pleasant change.

A knock at the door startled them both. Shawn walked into the room holding a stuffed bear. "Stacy insisted I get you a bear. How are you feeling?"

"A little rough around the edges but I hear I'll be okay. Did you hear any news about my car?" Dean asked, his fondness for his car apparent in his voice along with concern that the Impala had been injured in the same accident.

Sam just managed to prevent himself from rolling his eyes. Only Dean would be more concerned about his car than his own well being. But he couldn't deny that there was comfort in that – another sign that things were going to be okay.

A bright light flared on the periphery of his right eye. He kept seeing dancing lights, almost like the aura before a migraine. But so far no migraine. And no vision. He must be tired.

Shawn tucked the bear down next to Dean's side. "I'm told your car will be ready by the time you're released. And of course I'll take care of your hospital stay. I'm so sorry that this happened."

Now it was Dean's turn to stifle an eye roll. "Not your fault. Just glad Stacy wasn't hurt," Dean said, glancing over at Sam. He waited for Sam to chime in but his younger brother was still seated in the chair, shoulders hunched. And he was being overly quiet again and was looking pale and drawn.

"Sam, you okay? Maybe you should get some rest," Dean asked as he watched his brother closely. He was irritated that he was wired up and couldn't move freely. He wanted to figure out if Sam was just tired or if something was wrong.

"They said I could stay here tonight and I'm not leaving," Sam replied, unconsciously grinding the heel of his hand into his right eye. Dean took note of the movement and was about to ask his brother about it when Shawn moved toward the door.

Shawn glanced at his watch. He shrugged a little in apology. "I have to get back to Stacy but I'll drop by again in the morning. In the mean time, if you need anything please just call me," Shawn said as he slipped a card into Sam's hand.

Dean thought Shawn almost rivaled Sam in his attempt at earnestness. It was obvious he felt terrible about what had happened. He nodded to the brothers before slipping out of the room.

Dean yawned. He didn't like feeling so wrung out. But Sam was here, sitting next to his bed, so he could relax. Silence reigned as Dean closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

----------

Two days later Sam slipped into Dean's hospital room and set a bag with fresh cloths and toiletries on the counter by the window. The doctor said he thought Dean might be released tomorrow and Sam wanted to be ready. He knew his brother was eager to blow this joint but until the doctor signed off on his release he was going to make sure Dean stayed put.

As he turned away a wave of dizziness slammed through him and he propped himself against the wall to keep from falling. At the right side of his outermost vision he could see lights sparkling like a firework display. It was disconcerting and it made his head ache as he tried to look through it.

"I don't think you need to hold that wall up, Sam. Why don't you have a seat and take a load off," Dean suggested from his bed.

Sam slowly pushed off from the wall and made his way carefully to a chair next to the bed. Sinking down into it he looked at Dean closely. If he scrunched his right eye closed he could see fairly clearly and he had to say his brother looked energized and healthy.

Sam knew it was hell for Dean to lie around and wait for his body to heal but a collapsed lung was nothing to play around with and he was glad his brother had listened to the staff because it seemed to have paid off. Dean was sitting up, his eyes were clear, and his color was good.

"You look better. How do you feel?" Sam asked after evaluating Dean's condition.

"How do you think I feel? I'm bored. You have to get me out of here," Dean declared as he crossed his arms across his chest. He winced as his arms came in contact with his bruises but he didn't drop the pose.

Sam sighed, rubbed the flashing lights across the vision in his right eye, and tried to pacify Dean. "Come on, Dean. You said you'd wait for the doctor to clear you. Shawn is footing the bill so there's nothing to worry about there. Just try to relax."

"You don't understand! There's nothing to do. The nurses are too busy to flirt and I'm sick of looking at your ugly mug. It's time to hit the road," Dean muttered sharply. Sam knew all of the inactivity was making his brother cranky and tried to ignore it.

Although his eyes were telling him his brother was okay, on some level he wasn't sure and he didn't want Dean to leave the hospital against medical advice and suffer a setback. Just this once he wanted to be sure his brother truly was okay.

Sam understood what Dean was saying, how he was feeling, and he was on the verge of replying when he was suddenly overwhelmed with exhaustion. He'd been running between the garage and the hospital nonstop, plus worrying about Dean. And he'd been unable to shake this headache.

Sighing softly, he gave in to the urge to close his eyes and allowed his body to slump forward, folding his arms on the side of Dean's bed and put his head down.

"Don't be so melodramatic," Dean sniped. "I'm the one cooped up here. You at least can leave whenever you want."

Although it was just 7:00 a.m., Dean had been up for an hour. He had been in the hospital for three nights and each morning at the crack of dawn, the nurses bounced into his room, turned on the lights, and took his vitals. There was no way he could sleep through that which was criminal. Other than flirting with the busy nurses, what else was there to do in the hospital except sleep?

Dean waited for a response but when none was forthcoming he became concerned. Sam looked worse every day. At first he thought it was because of the injuries Sam had sustained in the accident but then he figured the staff must have given him the all clear. He was probably just worn down. Dean decided he would stop complaining about being stuck in the hospital. He'd probably get released tomorrow and he could suck if up for that long.

"Fine. You win. I'll stay until the doctor releases me. But you're going to have to get me some decent food," Dean threw out as a compromise. He thought that was only fair. But when Sam didn't laugh, or speak, or pick his head up Dean's worry ratcheted up another notch.

"Sammy? What's going on?" Dean asked. Maybe his brother was having a vision. He leaned forward and brushed a hand through Sam's moppy hair. "Sam, you with me?"

With effort Sam forced himself to pick up his head and look at his brother. "I..I think something's wrong…I can't," Sam broke off as pain accompanied another light show in his right eye. His vision became cloudier. It was as if a curtain had been slipped over his eye.

He clasped the right side of his face in agitation and leaned over until his head was on Dean's bed again. He could hear his brother talking but he couldn't focus past the pain in his head.

Dean reached forward again and tried to brush Sam's hair out of his face so he could get a better look at his brother. It was at that moment that someone knocked quietly on the door before letting himself into the room.

"Oh, excuse me. I didn't mean to interrupt," Dean's doctor, Dr. McHugh said. Dean could tell by his startled expression that the doctor thought he'd interrupted an awkward moment. The testosterone driven aspect of his personality wished he could set the doctor straight but he couldn't waste another moment of thought on it. Sam was in distress.

Dean turned impatient eyes on Dr. McHugh. "Something's wrong with him. Don't just stand there, do something." Dean swung his legs over the side of the bed, ready to do anything if needed.

"Just stay there," Dr. McHugh cautioned Dean as he moved around the bed and walked up next to Sam. "He's probably just worn out but let's take a look."

The doctor crouched down so that his face was level with Sam's and placed a hand on Sam's shoulder, "Sam, can you hear me?" Dean saw Sam's muscles bunch under Dr. McHugh's touch but he didn't pick his head up.

"Sam, I'm going to tip your head back so I can get a better look at you, okay?" Dr. McHugh explained as he gently grasped Sam's shoulders and pulled him upright to a sitting position.

A gasp was pulled from Sam's lips at the sudden change in position.

Dizziness swamped Sam and he tilted forward again but Dr. McHugh was there to pull him back. The flashing lights were finally gone but the only thing he could see out of his right eye were shadows. He just wanted it to stop. He reached up and rubbed his right eye again.

"Sam, is there something wrong with your eye?" Dr. McHugh asked patiently.

"Trouble seeing," Sam said brokenly as he swayed forward again. It didn't matter if his eyes were open or closed, the dizziness wouldn't stop.

Dean leaned forward as Dr. McHugh brushed the hair out of Sam's eyes. A dark bruise was visible on Sam's forehead up near his hairline.

"Did you know he hit his head recently?" Dr. McHugh turned his attention on Dean.

"Well, yeah. I think he hit his head on the dashboard in the accident," Dean replied as he moved off the bed to get a better look at the bruise. "I thought you guys checked him out." He didn't like the way Sam was reeling around and he was almost incoherent. Not at all like his brother.

Shaking his head, Dr. McHugh reached forward and snagged the call light hanging from the bed and activated it.

Sam was slowly tilting to the side and Dean reached out to steady him but Dr. McHugh beat him to it. The doctor halted Sam's descent and put his arm around him to keep him upright. He then kneeled next to the chair and pulled Sam over so that his head leaned across his shoulder.

Dr. McHugh was supporting Sam's weight and speaking softly to him. Watching the doctor with his brother made Dean uncomfortable. He took care of Sam and he always had. It was weird watching someone else comfort his brother. Disturbing even…making Dean feel powerless and guilty and impotent.

"Sheila," Dr. McHugh addressed a nurse as she entered the room, "I need you to page the on-call neurologist and ophthalmologist and then bring in a gurney. This young man was recently in a car accident and I don't think he was ever examined."

The nurse's eyes widened as she took in the scene before her and then she scrambled out the door.

A moment later Sheila wheeled in a gurney and positioned it next to Dr. McHugh and Sam.

"Sam, I'm going to help you stand up and then we'll make you comfortable," Dr. McHugh explained. He glanced back at Dean, who was still poised for action. "Rick, I need you to stand back while I get your friend situated on the gurney."

Dean didn't want to stand back. He wanted to help move his brother onto the gurney.

But he didn't want to needlessly argue, not with his brother's wellbeing at stake, so he did as the doctor asked.

Dr. McHugh put an arm around Sam's waist and smoothly pulled him up. Sam's knees buckled and in a swift motion the doctor swept Sam's legs off the floor and levered him up on the gurney where the nurse helped arrange Sam comfortably.

As soon as Sam was situated, Dean could no longer stand idly by. He moved around to stand next to this brother.

"Sammy, what's wrong. Talk to me," he begged as he leaned over his brother. He gently pushed Sam's bangs to the side and saw up close what the doctor had been talking about. A huge bruise where Sam's head must have connected with the dashboard was in full bloom.

Sam's eyes blinked open and he looked into his brother's concerned face. He squinted his eyes and tried in vain to see his brother clearly. "I can't see out of my right eye," Sam whispered before closing his eyes again.

TBC


	2. During

A/N: The note from the first chapter still applies. Thanks for reading!

-----

"_I can't see out of my right eye," Sam whispered before closing his eyes again. _

-----

Dean had insisted on accompanying Sam. When the nurses had tried to stop him, he'd demanded to be discharged against medical advice. Dr. McHugh had intervened, allowing him to stay with Sam.

Dean's eyes kept wandering up to the clock on the wall. It had been four hours and Dean was stuck in the surgical waiting room awaiting news of his brother.

Prior to the surgery, Dr. McHugh and another doctor, an ophthalmologist, had explained that Sam had sustained a concussion but the main problem was a detached retina in his right eye.

The ophthalmologist had explained that he was going to do a pneumatic retinopexy during which he would inject a gas bubble into Sam's eye to push the retinal tear back against the wall of the eye. He would then perform laser surgery to secure the retina to the eye wall.

If everything went well, Sam would regain the sight in that eye. He would have to maintain his head in an upright position for seventy-two hours. Not to mention surviving the pain.

But the alternative would be to go blind in that eye and that wasn't something Dean was willing to accept.

Dean needed Sam to be healthy. It had always been his job to look after his younger brother. And Sam didn't deserve this. Not after everything he'd been through.

Blindness wasn't an option. Dean would do anything, even pray, if only Sam would be able to see out of both eyes. After all, who had ever heard of a one eyed hunter?

Dean was remorseful. He'd been having some fun at Sam's expense, screwing around with the map, and look what had happened. If Sam hadn't unbuckled his seatbelt, he wouldn't have gone head first into the dashboard. Instead of having suffered a detached retina, Sam would be healthy.

_It's only funny until someone loses an eye._ Dean remembered seeing that scrawled across a bridge somewhere when he was a kid. South Milwaukee, Wisconsin. How prophetic.

Dean was pulled out of his depressing thoughts when Dr. McHugh entered the room.

The doctor untied the mask from around his neck and held it loosely in one of his hands. "We won't know for about three days if it was a success but Sam is out of surgery now if you'd like to sit with him," Dr. McHugh said. He put a hand around Dean's elbow and helped him stand. Dean wanted to shake his hand off but he needed the assistance or he'd fall on his face. And Sam was depending on him now.

"He's still very groggy from the anesthesia. We've got the head of the bed up at the right angle and we've had to restrain him for the time being because he keeps attempting to get up. It's imperative that his head remain upright so that his eye heals properly and he's in no condition to be wandering around," the doctor explained as he led Dean into the recovery area.

Dean wanted to say something, to ask the right questions, but he needed to see Sam first.

Upon entering the room, Dean's eyes immediately sought out his brother. Sam's right eye was heavily bandaged. Sam's arms were free but a wide band secured his chest to the bed. Dean's heart ached for his brother – Sam hated to be restricted but Dean didn't see a way around it.

Even though the doctor had warned him his brother was groggy he wasn't prepared for what greeted him. Sam's head rolled weakly from side to side and he was crying.

"Sam, it's Dean," he said as dropped down into a chair next to his brother. Dr. McHugh melted away but Dean barely noticed. His full attention was focused on his injured brother.

Sam's head turned toward the familiar voice and a big, blue-green tear soaked eye blinked up at Dean.

"Can we go now?" Sam beseeched his brother. He kept rolling his head back and forth and shifting on the bed but he couldn't get comfortable.

"Shhh," Dean said as he pulled Sam's hand into his own. "Just relax," he murmured.

"Dean, my head hurts." Sam tried to lift his free hand up to his head but he lacked the strength. Instead he plucked at the band encircling his chest.

"I know. I think they're going to give you something for the pain," Dean responded as he waved a nurse over.

Speaking softly in deference to Sam's condition, he told her, "He's in a lot of pain. Isn't there something you can give him?"

"I'll ask the doctor. We're kind of restricted in what we can do because of his concussion but we need to find a way to manage his pain. Try to keep him still and I'll see what I can do," Brenda, the Registered Nurse, answered as she tucked Sam's blanket in around him.

Unable to remove the band holding him down Sam finally gave up and relaxed back against the bed before starting to cry in earnest.

Dean knew it was the pain and medication making Sam weepy. But it was difficult to watch his normally stoic brother dissolving in tears before him. And what was even worse was that Dean couldn't fix this for him. They just had to ride it out.

Dean leaned over to run a calming hand through his brother's hair. He could remember doing the same thing to Sam as a baby when he was fussing.

Sam calmed for a moment and the tears slowed. "Dean, can I lay down now?" Sam pleaded in an exhausted voice.

Dean wanted to put his head down and cry himself. Sam was so out of it he wasn't going to understand an explanation about why he couldn't lay down.

It wasn't fair. Sam shouldn't be in this condition. A tear did roll down Dean's cheek and he brushed it impatiently aside. Self pity wasn't going to help his brother right now.

Sam moaned softly. It was a pitiful sound. Dean didn't know how much more he could take.

Dean reached out and cupped his brother's left check. "Sammy, I need you to be strong."

Sam's functioning eye stared into Dean's and he seemed to understand that he was causing his brother distress.

"Sorry, Dean. I'll try to be good," Sam whispered as fresh tears leaked out of his eye. He tried to stifle a sob but turned his head away as it reached a crescendo. Dean tried to comfort him, speaking softly to him, rubbing his cheek, but Sam was inconsolable.

Someone cleared his throat to get Dean's attention. "The pain medication we have Sam on is only agitating him so we're going to discontinue it," Dr. McHugh said as he entered the area to stand next to Sam. "We're going to set him up on a patient controlled IV morphine pump. That way he can dose himself as needed," he explained as he removed a bag from the IV stand and hooked a different bag up in its place.

"Sam, when your head hurts too much I want you to hit this button," Dr. McHugh said as he bent over and spoke quietly in soothing tones. "I'm going to put it on your left, by Rick. Can you push the button for me?"

At first Dean didn't think Sam was listening but then he tilted his head to the left and sought out the box. Unsteadily he pushed the button once and almost immediately his visage relaxed. Dean was amazed at how quickly the new medication seemed to work.

"Normally we'd move someone out of recovery to a regular room by this time but first I want to make sure this medication is managing Sam's pain. I'll check back in a while," Dr. McHugh said before lightly squeezing Sam's shoulder and leaving.

Within five minutes, Sam had quit twitching completely and was now laying there quietly with his left eye slowly blinking as he looked at Dean.

"How are you doing there, bro?" Dean asked, wanting to hear Sam's voice and know that he wasn't in distress anymore.

Sam squeezed his brother's hand before giving him a crooked smile. His eye drooped close and he drifted off to sleep.

Dean took a minute to really look at this brother. In sleep he always looked so much younger and smaller. And the white bandage across his right eye emphasized his pale skin. He looked so vulnerable. Dean vowed not to leave Sam's side until he was completely healed.

----------

Dean glanced over at his sleeping brother in the bed across the room from him. The restraint had been removed from Sam's chest now that he was calm. The new medication had done the trick and Sam had been moved out of recovery.

Dr. McHugh had suggested that "Rick" head back to his own room to get some rest but Dean had thrown a fit. He refused to leave Sam's side. Realizing that the only way his original patient would get any rest was to put the boys together, he arranged to have them moved to a double room.

Dean heaved a sigh. It had been eight hours since the surgery to repair Sam's eye and now that he was receiving the right medication he seemed to be resting comfortably. Or was he? Dean raised his head and noticed that Sam was shifting around on his bed again.

Dean carefully got out of bed and padded over to his brother. He lightly massaged his chest, pleased that he could breathe through the pain. In fact the pain was greatly diminished. He was pretty sure he would be discharged in the morning.

Sam seemed to be lightly dozing but he wasn't peaceful anymore. He kept swiping at his bandaged eye but the IV in his arm prevented him from swinging his arm up too high and causing any real damage.

Dean reached out and brushed the hair away from Sam's face in an effort to calm him. Sweat clung to Sam's bangs and face. Dean put his hand flush against Sam's forehead, careful to avoid the bruise, and felt heat pouring off of his brother. His brother had a fever. This couldn't be good. He depressed the call button and waited for a nurse to appear.

One of the young, pretty nurses, Jenny, who had been tending to Sam all afternoon, came in to the room, "Is everything okay?"

Dean motioned to his brother. "I think he's got a fever." She looked at Sam and saw him coated in sweat. "We checked his temperature an hour ago and it was just slightly elevated but that's fairly normal after a procedure." She pulled a tympanic thermometer out of her scrub top and popped it gently into Sam's ear.

Dean resisted the urge to babble at the nurse. He wanted Sam to wake up and have everything be fine. He wanted to leave this place and never come back.

But Sam didn't wake up. Not even when the nurse took his temperature. How could someone sleep through that? And Sam was getting more restless. His brother wasn't rocking his head back and forth but he wouldn't be surprised if that started up again any minute now.

The thermometer beeped and Jenny withdrew it from Sam's ear. Dean watched as she frowned.

"How bad?" he asked. His stomach tightened and he felt mildly nauseous. He was starting to get a bad feeling.

"102.9. Not good. I'm going to page his doctor," she said as she moved to the door.

"Try to get some rest, okay?" She looked at Dean with searching eyes. He was also her patient. But right now Sam needed her.

"You're kidding, right? I can't rest when he's this sick. What can I do?" Dean anxiously asked. He couldn't just sit there. After all, Sam had stayed by him while he was sick, this was the least he could do.

Dean's face was set in determination and the nurse quickly gave up the fight. "See if you can get him to sip some water. We're giving him fluids in his IV, too, but it can't hurt," she explained before exiting.

Dean reached over and grabbed the container of water already sporting a straw. "Sam, it's Dean. I need you to take a sip of this," he said as he slipped the straw between Sam's lips.

Sam spit the straw out and violently rocked his head to the side. "No," he moaned as he began to writhe and on the bed.

"It's going to be okay, Sam. You'll see," Dean promised as he tried to settle Sam more comfortably against the pillow.

The look in his brother's partially opened eye was flat and listless. Dean began to feel afraid that it wasn't just Sam's eye at stake but his life.

Dean didn't want to dwell on it but his thoughts kept coming back to how his little prank had spiraled out of control. And now his brother was paying the price. He didn't think he could forgive himself if Sam didn't pull out of this okay.

----------

Dr. McHugh was off duty so another doctor, Dr. Crenshaw, came in to examine Sam. He was thorough yet impersonal. Dean found himself wishing Dr. McHugh was treating Sam. Although it bothered him to admit it, the doctor seemed to have developed a rapport with his brother.

Dr. Crenshaw didn't have a good bedside manner. In fact, it sucked. He practically manhandled Sam into submission when he tried to swat the doctor away. When Dean pointed out that treating Sam that way would only escalate the situation, the doctor told him to pipe down or he'd have to leave the room.

Dean had been incensed but Jenny had intervened. She reached forward and squeezed Dean's arm once before sliding over to Sam and gently holding his arms to his side while Dr. Crenshaw checked his eye.

After fussing around Sam's eye for a few moments, Dr. Crenshaw re-bandaged the eye using the same gauze. He snapped out an order for a wide spectrum antibiotic and Tylenol to lower the fever and left the room without talking to either Dean or Sam. Not that Sam was in any condition to listen but maybe if Dr. Crenshaw had talked to him before touching his face Sam wouldn't have tried to wallop him.

Dean could tell Jenny was unimpressed by the doctor. When the doctor exited the room Dean swore he saw her roll her eyes as she dutifully recorded the orders.

"So, um, what do you think of Dr. Crenshaw?" Dean blurted out. The antibiotic and Tylenol seemed like a no brainer but using the same gauze to bandage Sam's eye seemed wrong. Dean wanted a second opinion.

He was now standing next to his sick brother, hovering over him. Sam's color was bad and he was out of it. Something had to give

Jenny took Sam's pulse and frowned. "I think Dr. McHugh would want to know that Sam has spiked a fever so I'm going to see if I can page him at home," Jenny answered diplomatically as she tried to sooth Sam by rubbing his shoulder.

"What?" Dean asked, closely observing the nurse. Frowning while tending to his brother made him nervous. Very nervous.

"I'm going to get those medications, page Dr. McHugh, and then bring in some ice. We'll see if we can cool Sam's body down a little," she answered thoughtfully.

At least Dean could see that Jenny cared about her patient. And she had a competent, calming bedside manner. As opposed to Dr. Crenshaw who seemed to employ the bull in the china shop approach. Dean wanted to sock him in the nose.

Forcing himself to calm down, Dean went into the bathroom and grabbed a cloth before wetting it with cold water from the tap. He'd see if he could make his brother more comfortable. This tactic had worked on Sam when he was younger. As much as Dean was loathe to show affection to his brother when they were both healthy, he could never deny Sam when he was sick.

And Dean didn't like to be inactive when Sam was sick or injured. He needed to feel as though he was doing something to aid in Sam's recovery. Nothing was more difficult than standing by and feeling useless when the most important person in your world was hurting.

Dean returned to his brother's bedside and found Sam lightly panting. His face was exceedingly pale except where slashes of scarlet red blazed across Sam's cheekbones.

Speaking softly, Dean called Sam's name and waited for his brother to acknowledge him. He didn't want Sam to take a swing at him, too. He barely roused at the sound of his name.

Receiving no reply, Dean gently wiped Sam's face. His brother seemed to find it comforting and leaned into the cloth. Dean continued to stroke the cloth tenderly over his brother's skin until he could feel the warmth radiating from it.

Jenny bustled into the room pushing a cart. She inserted the tympanic thermometer into Sam's ear again while holding a cell phone to her own ear. "It's climbing," she announced. "It's now up to 103.5. Uh huh…I'm going to start the Naprosyn now. We'll see you soon. Thank you, doctor."

Dean barely held his silence until Jenny disconnected the call. Looking at her expectantly, he asked, "Well? What did he say?"

"He changed the medication order," she explained as she hung a new bag on Sam's IV pole. "Dr. McHugh is on his way in now," she advised Dean with satisfaction.

Dean was relieved Dr. McHugh was coming in to see Sam. "Thanks for calling him. That Crenshaw dude is an asshole," he announced. He continued to stroke the cloth over Sam's fevered face.

Jenny smirked and nodded her head before heading for the door. "Hey, can I get you something?" she asked.

Dean had forgotten that he was still patient as his sole focus was on his brother. "No, thanks." He barely spared a glance at the nurse before returning to Sam's side again.

"I'm going to get that ice and bring you some cola. We need to keep your fluids up, too," she responded before swishing out the door.

Dean hustled back into the bathroom and soaked the cloth under more cold tap water. Whereas before Sam had been agitated, mumbling and tossing, he was now lethargic. Occasionally he blinked his eye open and looked at Dean but that eye was glassy and unfocussed. Dean resumed wiping Sam's face and neck with the cool cloth and hoped Dr. McHugh had some answers.

----------

Dean's head was drooping with exhaustion. Icing Sam down was pure torture for everyone involved.

Sam was lost in that gray area between delirium and wakefulness. Dean kept talking to him, whispering instructions, and he tried to obey him but he must not have been listening well because his brother kept putting ice on him and making him shiver. Sam had given up trying to move away from the insistent hands and cold wetness and resigned himself to being miserable.

Dean was struggling with his brother's sudden deterioration in health. He kept remembering Sam's childhood illnesses and how he'd been the one to always care for his brother when he was sick. But this time giving him a little fever reducer and applying a cool cloth wasn't having the desired outcome and he was frustrated that there wasn't more he could do.

Even Jenny was having a difficult time maintaining her objectivity. When Dean had caught her staring at Sam's face with rapt attention she had explained that she had gotten to know Sam a little from seeing him around the hospital corridors these last couple of days and she'd found him to be bright and compassionate. She admitted it was hard seeing a once vital young man reduced to this level of discomfort and tears.

Jenny was straightening Sam's sheets when Dr. McHugh came in wearing jeans and a t-shirt.

"Any change?" he sought Jenny out directly before turning his full attention on Sam.

"Let me grab another box of probe covers for the thermometer," Jenny answered as she scooted out the door.

Dean felt his hackles rise a little as Dr. McHugh gently but firmly moved him to the side. He should be the one to tend to Sam. But he lacked a medical degree and expertise so he swallowed back his frustration and gave the doctor room to work.

"Sam, can you hear me?" Dr. McHugh gently asked as he touched Sam's arm and spoke into his ear insistently. Sam turned his head slightly toward the voice. It looked like he was attempting to open his eye but he couldn't muster enough strength.

Dean watched as Dr. McHugh evaluated Sam. His hands and touch were almost tender. It was a huge contrast with Dr. Crenshaw's technique. "Just relax, Sam," Dr. McHugh soothed as he dipped one of the discarded cloths in the melting ice and applied it to Sam's face, neck and arms.

As if on cue Sam's neck and jaw, which he'd been holding rigidly, relaxed. This was the most response Sam had shown all day. Dean couldn't help but feel a little put out. He was trying so hard to be there for his brother but Dr. McHugh was the one who managed to elicit a response from his ailing brother.

Jenny reappeared and expertly inserted the tympanic thermometer in Sam's ear. A smile creased her face as the thermometer beeped. "Down to 101.9. Looks like your treatment is starting to work," she said with satisfaction.

Now that the crisis had been averted, Dean allowed Jenny to ease him back into his own bed. Since he'd failed at helping his little brother he might as well get out of the way.

Observing Sam closely he noticed his brother settle back against the pillows without a fuss. It was hard for someone who was stuck sitting upright to look at ease but this was the most relaxed Dean had seen his brother since he'd practically collapsed in the doctor's arms.

Dean watched as Dr. McHugh meticulously checked Sam's eye and bandaged it again with clean supplies. His bedside manner was impeccable and his brother seemed to be rebounding under his ministrations.

Once again Dean felt useless. He was unable to make Sam feel better but this stranger had known what to do for his brother. Dean realized that as a doctor it was McHugh's job to heal people but it made him feel so insignificant and inferior.

And if the doctor kept on cooing at his brother and petting him, Dean wouldn't be responsible for his actions. Dean knew it was an immature response, but he wanted to be the one to take care of his brother. It had been his job since Sammy was a baby.

Stepping back and letting a stranger help his only family was difficult – Winchesters didn't give their trust easily. But in this case he didn't have a choice. He'd do whatever he needed to in order to ensure Sam's health.

----------

Sam had finally settled into a deep sleep and, tired from the constant worry, Dean soon followed suit. Upon waking the next morning, Dean was feeling more like himself and was pleased when Dr. McHugh kept his word and released him. Of course Dean had insisted on staying with Sam.

Sam's color was a little better and now that the fever had broken he wasn't as restless. The only thing he did was sleep which left Dean with too much time on his hands. Too much time to think.

The boredom was relieved when Shawn stopped by close to 6:00 p.m. to see how they were doing. When he saw how tired Dean looked he insisted on taking him back to the house. When Jenny, who was just coming on duty, assured him that Sam would continue to do nothing but sleep for the next twelve or so hours, Dean decided to cave in and accept Shawn's offer.

He was wrung out and since Sam was sleeping peacefully and Jenny would be there to take care of him, he knew it was the perfect opportunity to get some rest. Once Sam woke up, he knew he'd have his hands full.

The one bright spot in the evening occurred when Dean saw the Impala, waiting at Shawn's house, hood no longer rumpled and gleaming in the fading afternoon sun. Too bad it wasn't as easy to fix Sam's damage from the accident.

Shawn and Stacy did their level best to make Dean feel at home but there was an underlying sense of guilt coloring his stay. Shawn kept apologizing for the accident and Dean felt responsible for Sam's injuries. After an uncomfortable dinner that was only relieved by Stacy's chatter, Dean turned in to bed. Despite the self recriminations, he soon drifted off to sleep.

-----

Dean awakened to find a munchkin in his face. Stacy was bouncing around his room singing out in a loud voice that it was late and time to get up. Dean found the clock on the nightstand and realized it was after 10:00 a.m.

"Shit!" he cried as he scrambled out of bed slipping into the pair of jeans he'd left at the foot of the bed.

"You said a bad word," Stacy giggled as she fled the room. Dean couldn't think of a fitting response and held his tongue.

Why hadn't Jenny called him to let him know that Sam was awake? Unless Sam wasn't awake in which case he must be a lot sicker than he'd been led to believe.

He grabbed the phone in the guest suite and dialed the hospital, impatiently tapping his foot as he waited to be connected with the nurses' station on Sam's floor.

Someone he didn't recognize answered the phone and Dean asked if Jenny was available. He was told that she should have left by now but that they would check to see. A tired voice got on the line and he recognized Jenny. Skipping the pleasantries, he dove right in, "Is Sam okay?" He felt breathless as he waited to hear what was going on.

"Relax. He woke up this morning and he's doing much better," Jenny explained.

"Why didn't you call me?" Dean demanded. He was upset that the nurse hadn't kept her promise. He could only imagine Sam's confusion at waking up in a lonely hospital room with nothing but doctors and nurses by his side.

"Sam is doing so much better today that we decided to let you sleep in a little. Sam practically insisted on it and we've been keeping him company," she assured Dean.

_Sam was okay with him not being there when he woke up?_ Dean expected that Sam would have been asking for him; he was always a little needy when he was sick or injured and tended to cling to his older brother until he was feeling better. At least that had always been the pattern before.

The realization that Sam was coping fine without him kind of took the wind out of his sails.

"Oh, okay," Dean said while frowning. While trying to absorb the information that Sam was awake and doing well without him, another thought occurred to him. "Wait, you said we. Who's been keeping Sam company?"

"Sam's pain is being controlled and he's much more lucid today. He woke up right when I was getting off shift so I decided to hang around for a while. I'm taking off now that Dr. McHugh is here. I guess Sam went to Stanford which is Dr. McHugh's alma mater. They're chatting like old friends so don't worry about him," she volunteered innocently.

Dean's shoulders drooped. He was grateful that Dr. McHugh was on top of Sam's case but he suddenly felt insignificant in Sam's life. Just like he'd felt when Sam had taken off for school and met new, interesting people and dropped out of Dean's life.

"Thanks, Jenny. If Sam asks, please tell him I'll be there within the hour," Dean said before disconnecting the call. He collapsed back on the bed, dejected.

Dean so was so accustomed to taking care of Sam that it felt like someone was horning in on his territory. It wasn't a pleasant feeling.

Dean had been the one to carry his baby brother out of their burning house and from that moment forward he'd appointed himself Sam's protector. He'd been the one to hear Sam's first word, to see Sam off to school on his first day, to comfort Sam when he had a nightmare.

He pulled himself to his feet and headed for the shower. He was eager to check on his brother and see for himself that he was doing better.

----------

Dean arrived as lunch was being served to the patients. A covered tray was sitting before Sam but Dean couldn't tell if his brother was dozing or awake. He took a moment to study him.

Sam was still sitting up against the raised head of the bed. His color was approaching normal, not too pale and not flushed with fever, and his posture was relaxed. Dean was relieved to find the high fever a thing of the past.

Sam must have sensed him in the room because he called out his brother's name. He sounded so frail to Dean's ears but it was still musical -- Sam needed him.

"Right here, little brother," Dean murmured as he sat down on the chair next to the bed. Sam sluggishly turned his head toward his brother's voice and worked at clearing the sleep from his left eye.

Sam's face lit up as soon as he saw Dean sitting next to him.

"They told me you were better but I didn't believe it. Are you really okay or have you been pushing it?" Sam lightly scolded as he stared at his brother.

Dean's anxiety eased a little. He could tell that Sam was pleased to see him and the familiar banter had returned.

"I'm still a little sore and tired but I think I'm getting some of my mojo back. The nurses couldn't keep their eyes off me when I walked by today," Dean kidded. His teasing on the subject of his supposed charm was a standard response but it was normal and Dean embraced it as he saw a dimple flash in his brother's cheek.

"Dude, Jenny told me that the staff thinks we're gay," Sam explained, lightly chuckling. It wasn't the first time in the last year they'd found themselves mistaken for a couple. It caused a certain amount of consternation on Dean's part, after all he had his reputation as a full blooded American male to uphold, but it never failed to tickle Sam's funny bone. He just didn't see it.

A sudden pain on the right side of Sam's head took him by surprise and he couldn't hide the wince from Dean's knowing eyes.

"Hey. You okay?" Dean said furrowing his brow. A vivid memory of Sam lying unconscious in the doctor's arms sprang into his mind. Very rarely did Sam's illnesses run a normal course so he was on the lookout for the next problem.

The animation left Sam's face at the same time the color receded from it. He twisted a little on the bed to find a more comfortable position but being forced to sit up was preventing him from achieving it.

"Sam?" Dean queried again. He didn't like how Sam had gone from laughing and joking to utter silence.

Sam wilted against his pillows. He looked like tears were close to the surface.

"Sorry. Seeing with just one eye…it sometimes makes me dizzy," he whispered as his hand snaked out and sought his brother's. "Please, stay with me."

Dean wasn't much of a touchy feely kind of guy, but he would have held Sam's hand if his brother hadn't quickly withdrawn it from his grasp.

He shifted back in his chair and looked at his brother. There wasn't anything he could to do. Except be there for Sam.

----------

Dr. McHugh had considered discharging Sam, despite the bandages, but in the end Sam's fluctuating fever made that impossible. Protocol dictated that a patient needed to be afebrile for twenty four hours and Sam continued to spike a temperature of 101 every day in the late afternoon. The doctor couldn't pinpoint the exact source of the fever so he decided it was best to keep him under observation.

Dean suspected that the doctor also wanted to keep his brother around for company. The two of them had really connected. In fact, Dr. McHugh had taken to spending some of his off hours with Sam and apparently that had generated gossip among the staff.

Passing by the nurses station, Dean had heard two nurses commenting on how Dr. McHugh had always come across as coldly competent and hadn't really warmed to the staff's friendly overtures so wasn't it interesting that he was making it his personal mission to watch out for the patient in room 312.

Dean didn't know how to react to that bit of information. It wasn't that he mistrusted the doctor exactly. He had, after all, saved Dean's life and was now taking excellent care of Sam. It just seemed odd to him that an accomplished doctor would be seeking out his younger brother's company. That Stanford connection must be one hell of a bond.

Dean breezed down the hallway and entered Sam's room without knocking only to find the current object of his thoughts sitting next to his brother, head thrown back and laughing. These were not the actions of a cold man.

"Excuse me, am I interrupting? Because I can come back later if that's the case?" Dean announced frostily. He was sick of seeing this man around his brother all of the time.

Dr. McHugh's laughter trailed off and he looked at his watch before standing up. "It's time I got going. Thanks for the break, Sam. I hope we can talk more about your experiences at Stanford later," the doctor said as he excused himself.

"Did I miss something?" Sam said with an air of bewilderment after the doctor exited the room. "That was kind of rude, don't you think?"

"What?" Dean asked innocently.

Sam sighed in exasperation and fidgeted with the bandage covering his eye.

"If you keep picking at that I'm going to tie your hand down," Dean declared as he watched Sam tugging on the bandage.

Sam pulled his hand guiltily down by his side and smiled nervously. "Sorry. I guess I'm going a little stir crazy here."

Sam wished he could have shared how he was a little worried about their future. Hunting was the common thread that held the brothers together -- what if he could no longer participate? But he was at a disadvantage in his current state and somehow saying the words aloud would make it worse. The truth was that Sam was afraid if he lost the vision in his eye and couldn't hunt then he'd somehow lose his brother, too.

"Don't you worry, Sammy. You're going to be fine," Dean reassured him. At least he hoped Sam would be fine because he couldn't imagine what life would be like for his brother with damaged vision. The mere thought of a blinded Sam was unfathomable. Dean refused to contemplate it.

Sam could sense Dean's discomfort. He leaned back against the pillows and forcing a smile, changed the subject, "So which nurse are you hitting on now?"

Dean was relieved that Sam had let the subject drop. Maybe the great Dr. McHugh would know exactly what to say but Dean found himself floundering. He was only prepared to deal with the prospect of Sam's threatened vision if it came to pass.

----------

Dean returned to Sam's hospital room early the next morning after another night spent restlessly in the guest suite. Today was the big day. They'd soon know if Sam's surgery to repair his detached retina had been successful.

Dean nodded to Jenny as he passed by the nurses' station and was startled when she almost knocked him over in an attempt to get his attention. "I was just trying to call you," she said, a sober expression darkening her face.

The tightness was back in Dean's stomach. Something was wrong. But Sam had been doing much better when he'd left him the day before.

Jenny reached out and touched Dean's arm in a comforting gesture. "Sam took his bandages off himself. The surgery failed. I'm sorry," she said.

Dean couldn't accept what Jenny was telling him. He shook her hand off and reeled back away from her, coming to rest against the wall. Sam was supposed to be fine. Dean felt his whole world shift.

Sam wasn't fine and it was Dean's job to see to his brother. Taking a deep breath he pulled himself together. Sam needed him. He'd have time enough to deal with his own feelings later.

Brushing past Jenny, Dean bolted for Sam's room. "Sam?" he cried out as he saw Sam curled on his side, the bed flat for once, the pillow hiding his face.

Jenny entered the room right after Dean and caught his arm. "We had to give him a sedative. He was so certain he'd be fine…this was quite a blow."

Dean stood there like a statue and when he didn't say anything Jenny left the room.

"I'm so sorry Sammy," Dean whispered as he dropped into the chair next to his sleeping sibling. "This wasn't supposed to happen."

Dean felt like he was coming undone. Sam had it all. He was smart, intuitive, thoughtful, athletic, good looking…and now blind in one eye.

And it was Dean's fault.

How could he make this better?

Dean stared at his dormant brother, waiting for him to wake up. He didn't now exactly how to help Sam through this.

Feeling as though he'd been gut punched, Dean bent over at the waist. Would Sam be able to hunt? And more importantly, would having vision in one eye make him more vulnerable to the Yellow Eyed Demon and the other supernatural beings that seemed drawn to his brother? Sam always wanted to be independent, to take care of things himself, but Dean wasn't sure that was possible any more.

He wasn't sure of anything any more. Except that his brother needed him and he couldn't let him down.

----------

After waking from the sedative induced sleep, Sam had declared that he was ready to leave. And by leave, he meant the hospital, the town, the state--he didn't care where they went but he needed to move.

Nothing Dean or Dr. McHugh could say had changed his mind and finally Dean acquiesced. He couldn't give his brother perfect vision again but he could fulfill his brother's request.

Dean had packed the car in record time and returned to the hospital to fetch Sam. They had no destination but Dean was willing to point the Impala in the other direction and just drive. When he got tired, or sore, he would find a place for them to stay.

Before they could leave Dr. McHugh needed to go over the discharge instructions. Dean was mildly surprised when the doctor told them that with therapy Sam's body would become accustomed to his acquired monocular vision but it would be rough going for a while.

Sam didn't seem to have faith in what the doctor said. His arms were folded, his jaw was set, and he refused to look Dr. McHugh in the eye.

The doctor tried to reach his patient but Sam wasn't having any of it. Despite being shut out, he persisted. "Sam, I'm not going to lie to you. You're going to have problems with eye hand coordination, depth judgments, orientation, mobility, and some activities of daily living such as driving, climbing stairs, and crossing the street. But most people with acquired monocular vision loss believe they have adapted to their condition by one year with many reporting the loss had not changed their life in any permanent way," Dr. McHugh tried to reassure Sam.

Dean still felt guilty over the map and the seatbelt and the accident. The price of his stupid prank was far higher than anyone should have to pay, least of all Sam.

It was obvious that Sam would need some time to come to terms with his new disability. With some effort and practice, it sounded like his little brother could do anything he wanted.

Dean couldn't exactly say he felt better but he now had a new mission. He would help Sam relearn how to do everything again with one functioning eye.

Dean refocused on the conversation in time to hear Dr. McHugh wish Sam well. He held out his hand to shake Sam's but his brother ignored it, or didn't see it, appearing deep in thought. Instead the doctor clasped him on the shoulder and headed out the door. Catching Dean's eye, he motioned that he'd like to speak to him outside of the room. Curious, Dean followed him out.

Dr. McHugh handed Dean a business card and a bottle of prescription pain killers. "Please, contact me if you have any questions or need help."

Dean thanked him and slipped the card and bottle into the inside pocket of his jacket. "Thank you for everything you've done. I know you took good care of Sam."

The doctor tilted his head in thought before speaking again. "I have to tell you, spending time with Sam was a welcome balm. I lost my wife to cancer about a year ago and despite our age difference, I recognized a kindred soul in Sam. Just talking about my wife to someone who's been through the same thing helped me. Sam is pretty special. But then you already know that. Please take good care of him."

Dean shook the doctor's hand and watched him walk away, stunned. It had never occurred to him that Sam and the doctor had connected over their grief.

He felt his familiar companion, guilt. He had been envious of the bond between Sam and Dr. McHugh. He wished he could go back and undo his resentfulness. The relationship had been beneficial to his brother but he'd been oblivious to it, trying to stifle it.

The only thing he could do now was take care of Sam and be there for him.

-----

Dean kept going over the list of things in his head that would be affected by Sam's sudden loss of vision. They were all things that would be detrimental to hunting. But he was determined to help Sam recover. He just needed to wait a while until Sam was ready to face the changes wrought by the detached retina.

Dean glanced over at his subdued passenger. Everything about Sam was subdued at the moment. He spoke softly, moved slowly and wouldn't look his brother in the eye.

Dean ached to tell Sam that his thoughtless prank with the map had resulted in Sam's vision loss. But every time he started to discuss the crash, Sam deflected the conversation. The guilt was eating him up but this wasn't about him. It was about being there for his brother.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his little brother rub his stomach, "Hey, you getting hungry?"

"No, I'm good," Sam quietly answered. He turned his head and looked at Dean. He was wearing dark sunglasses so his eyes remained hidden. "Thanks, Dean."

"For what?" Dean was taken aback by Sam's gratitude. He wished there was more he could do for his brother but at the moment he could only listen if Sam wanted to talk.

"Being here," Sam answered back. He settled back against the headrest and closed his eyes. He felt a cool breeze tugging at his hair and turned his face toward it.

Sam didn't know what the future held. He may never be able to hunt again. At one point in time, when Jessica was at his side, nothing would have made him happier than that the thought of never hunting again. But times had changed. His situation had changed. He could never have normal. Not without Jess. Not with his diminished eyesight.

But at least he still had Dean.

TBC

A/N 2: I hope you didn't think I was being too tough on Dean in his response to the doctor. I was aiming for a little tension -- he's going through a tough time himself and doing the best he can to cope with the situation. But Sam is still his top priority and he's still the world's greatest older brother!


	3. After

_He could never have normal…not with his diminished eyesight._

-----

Dean had headed the Impala west with no specific destination in mind. They had just crossed the border into South Dakota an hour or so ago and were nearing Sioux Falls. The car was now heading straight into the sinking orange globe. Dean shifted around to find a position where he could protest his eyes from the brutal rays and still be able to see where they were going.

Dean glanced at his brother and verified that he was dozing in the afternoon sun. His eyes were extremely sensitive to light, despite the cloudy vision in his right eye, and had Sam been awake, the sun would have caused him major pain. As it was, Sam had tilted his head away from the brightness to protect his sightless right eye.

He started scanning the side of I-29 for a motel sign. His own chest was throbbing and his energy still wasn't up to par. He needed to rest if he was going to have the strength to care for his ailing brother. Sam was putting up a good front, but Dean knew his brother still needed time to come to terms with his condition before they could work on his recovery.

An exit sign showed a Motel 6 fast approaching and Dean expertly navigated the Impala off of the highway and into the parking lot of the motel. He hesitated to wake Sam, opting instead to continue letting him sleep, and locked his brother in the car until he could get them a room.

There were plenty of vacancies at the moment and the price was right. Dean selected a room at the back of the motel and dragged himself out to the car. Moving on autopilot he guided the Impala around back and pulled in front of their room.

Dean reached a hand out to shake his brother's shoulder and then thought better of it. He didn't want to startle him. Instead he quietly called out his brother's name, "Sam, time to wake up. I got us a room." He saw his brother shift in the passenger seat and then straighten up, putting a hand out on the dashboard to brace himself.

Dean waited a moment to allow Sam to adjust to wakefulness before nudging him to move. "I'm beat. Let's grab our stuff and get inside," he said as he emerged from the car. He reached into the back seat and grabbed both his bag and Sam's before making his way around to the passenger's seat.

In that time Sam had managed to swing his legs out of the car but his head was bent and he was still.

Dean dropped the bags and knelt down on the pavement next to his brother. He winced as his chest ached at the sudden shift in position. He put his hand on Sam's knee and waited to see if his brother would acknowledge him. He wasn't disappointed when Sam lifted his head.

"I'm a little dizzy. Just give me a moment and then I'll be in," he assured Dean.

Dean didn't want to leave Sam's side but he was trying hard not to hover. He decided he'd unlock their room and get their stuff inside before returning to help Sam. He didn't want to be accused of pulling a "mother hen" routine but he wanted to be nearby in case Sam lost his balance or tripped.

Dean opened the door, flipped on the light switch, and surveyed the room. The carpet and bedspreads were both a lovely shade of harvest yellow. Home for the next couple of days would be bile colored. He guessed it was better than avocado green, or snot as he preferred to call it. Wonderful.

He set down the bags and took a moment to rub his sternum. Sitting confined in the car for most of the day had not been kind to his recovering chest. He was looking forward to a hot shower to loosen his muscles, maybe a pizza and some sleep. But first he needed to help Sam out of the car.

Sam had extracted himself from the car and was now leaning against it. If Dean allowed Sam to continue at this pace, he just might make it into the room by midnight.

Remembering to avoid Sam's right side where he was apt to be easily startled, Dean moved to his left and wrapped a hand around his brother's elbow to steady him. Sam pushed weakly away from the car and moved toward the room with Dean's guidance.

As they approached the threshold of the door Sam lost his footing and stumbled. Dean lunged forward and caught him around the waist, saving him from a spectacular spill. Sam mumbled his thanks and didn't put up any resistance as Dean steered him into the room and settled him on the bed.

Dean found Sam's actions disturbing. All of his life Sam had struggled to be independent and self sufficient. Now he wordlessly, passively, accepted Dean's help. It was hard for Dean to see Sam this way.

But Dean knew until Sam was ready to accept his condition there wasn't much he could do. He could only be there to catch Sam if he fell.

----------

When Dean headed into the bathroom for the hot shower he had promised himself earlier he had left Sam sitting on one of the beds, staring blankly at the TV. When he exited the bathroom accompanied by a cloud of steam, his aches and pains had diminished and he was thinking of food. Food didn't seem to be on Sam's mind at all because he was sprawled across the bed and looked like he was out for the count.

Shedding the towel wrapped around his lean hips, Dean quickly crawled into some clothes and then grabbed a phonebook. He'd just order a pizza, and when Sam woke up he could have his share. And cold pizza for breakfast was always welcome.

After placing the order, Dean moved back over by Sam's bed and watched his sleeping sibling. Sam's neck was kinked at an uncomfortable angle and his face was scrunched up as if in pain.

Dean pulled out the bottle that Dr. McHugh had pressed into his hand and started to read about the dosage. Sam hadn't taken anything for pain since they'd left the hospital more than twelve hours ago so he was long overdue for something.

Fetching a glass of water out of the bathroom, Dean shook two pills into his hand and without thinking reached over and shook Sam gently on the right shoulder.

The results were instantaneous and explosive.

Sam's eyes snapped open and he sat up, abruptly knocking the glass of water out of Dean's hands and drenching himself in the process.

The sudden change in position was too much for Sam's unstable equilibrium and his vision grayed out in his working eye. His eyes rolled up into his head and he flopped back onto the bed, passed out before Dean.

"Shit! Sam, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. I just wanted you to take something for the pain. Sam? Sam?" Dean rambled as he set the glass and pills on the table and perched on the edge of Sam's bed, this time on the left side where his brother would be able to see him when his eyes opened.

Dean wasn't sure what to do. Why had Sam passed out like that? Maybe it was the dizziness that his brother kept experiencing. He was on the verge of fishing Dr. McHugh's number out of his jacket when Sam began to stir.

Sam's eyes blinked open and he put a hand up to his head. "Dean? What happened? And why am I wet?" he said with a hint of pout before a slight shiver shook his frame.

Dean didn't want to hurt his brother's feelings but something about the way Sam asked that made him want to laugh. It reminded him of the Sammy from yesteryear. The inquisitive child with floppy brown hair, large eyes and a sulk when he didn't understand what was happening. The chuckle died away before he gave birth to it; Sam was confused and wet and relying on Dean to make things better.

"Sorry, Sammy. I startled you and you knocked a glass of water out of my hands. I'm going to grab you something dry to put on," he explained as he thrust his hand into Sam's bag and pulled out some flannel pants and a t-shirt. When he turned back Sam was sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. Setting down the clothing he grabbed the glass and refilled it with cool tap water from the bathroom.

"Here, let's try this again. The doctor said you might need these for a little longer," he said as he gave Sam the pills followed by the water. Sam didn't ask what they were or what they were for. He just gulped them down and allowed Dean to take the glass back when he started listing to the right side.

Here were more signs that not everything was right with his sibling. Dean told himself to give it time. But patience was not his forte.

Dean wordlessly handed Sam the dry clothes and watched as his brother struggled into them. He then pulled the bedspread back and maneuvered his brother under the covers. Sam turned onto his right side and quickly drifted off to sleep. At least Dean thought he was asleep but when turning away he heard Sam mumble, "Thanks, Dean," in a thick, soft voice.

Dean shook his head before turning the light out next to Sam's bed. He took a moment to smooth the covers around Sam's shoulders before sinking onto his bed. He let his head sink into his hands.

Sam didn't deserve this. Dean knew he would have to be extra vigilant to make sure his brother survived this latest set back. After everything else he had endured, Dean was afraid this was the thing that would send him over the edge.

----------

Winchesters didn't complain about the things that cut the deepest. Small bruises or imagined slights were fodder for discussion; the serious hurts and wounds were glossed over. Sam picked now to hold with the Winchester tradition. He was doing fine, everything was okay and it was killing Dean because he knew it wasn't true but he wasn't sure how to help his brother.

Sam was slowly becoming accustomed to the lack of depth perception caused by having only one eye. He easily moved around the room but he had more problems when Dean coaxed him outside. Oftentimes he had to reach for the Impala's door twice because the first time he missed it.

Balance continued to be a problem as well. Sam turned his head slightly to the right to gain a greater range of vision but it screwed with his orientation and he sometimes had to put a hand out to steady himself. Of course if he misjudged the distance to the nearest wall he oftentimes ending up falling farther than intended and had a new collection of bruises from colliding with objects.

Sam never complained. He didn't say a word unless his brother drew it out of him. In fact Dean had turned to subterfuge in order to provoke Sam into conversation. All Dean had to do was rub his chest and grimace and Sam was all over his case, demanding that he slow down, take it easy, rest for a while. He should have felt guilty but it was the one time that he felt like the Sam of old was in his presence. He wouldn't have to resort to these silly games if Sam would just open up to him a little.

Wasn't that funny? Sam had begged Dean to open up to him about their father's death and he'd shut his brother out. Now the shoe was on the other foot and it was frustrating and maddening and Dean was going crazy with worry.

He knew Sam had a lot on his plate but he had always wanted to talk through things before, ad nauseum. Either his brother had hidden coping skills or he was headed for an explosion. Dean stayed on guard for the latter.

The moment came five days after Sam's release from the hospital. Sam, sitting on the edge of the bed, reached down to grab his shoes and struck his head on the table. He tumbled forward to sprawl head first onto the yellow carpet.

Before Dean could intervene, Sam was sitting up, rubbing his head, and started to giggle. The giggle turned to chuckling. The chuckling turned to cachinnation. Sam buried his head in his hands and tried to suppress the manic laughter escaping his lips. He was soon out of breath and tears leaked from his eyes.

The shock of Sam's laughter had stopped Dean in his tracks. Watching his brother try to smother the sounds of distress pouring from his mouth struck a chord in the older Winchester and he soon found himself kneeling on the floor next to Sam. This only acted as a spur to Sam's emotions and soon he leaned into Dean's shoulder. Sam convulsively gasped and Dean feared he would soon pass out but slowly, with much hitching and pausing, he finally reined things in and lay exhausted in his brother's arms.

Neither brother spoke. Finally Sam withdrew from Dean's hold and shakily wiped the wetness from his face. He shook Dean's supportive hand away before pulling himself to his feet and then closed himself in the bathroom.

Dean didn't know if he should hide the guns and knives or if this show of emotion had actually been cathartic for his brother. He paced around the room and counseled himself to give his brother a moment to pull himself together. He was rewarded when the bathroom door open and Sam emerged. His eyes were red and his face was blotchy but he was sporting a sheepish smile.

"Um, now where were we before we were so rudely interrupted," Sam commented with a flash of his trademark humor.

Dean relaxed. Maybe Sam was bearing up under the weight of his disability after all.

"What do you think about hitting the road again? Maybe visit the Badlands?" Dean inquired. He would let Sam set the pace and make the decisions for a while.

Losing his eyesight on his right side had been out of his hands but maybe giving him the chance to decide the course of things now would mitigate some of that powerlessness.

"Sounds good. I'll help you pack up," Sam said as he started moving around the room, gathering items as he went.

Dean didn't want to spoil the moment and kept his thoughts to himself. He was happy to see his brother acting more like himself again.

----------

It had been three long months since the car accident and the brothers had continued to meander across country. Dean kept them solvent by hustling pool but he was growing bored. He craved the action of the hunt but until Sam adjusted to his new vision situation it wasn't safe.

Dean could have gone out on a job on his own, had considered it carefully, and then rejected it. Given a little time he thought Sam would be ready. He just had to convince Sam of that.

Dean had pushed and pulled, sometimes with subtlety but usually with vigor, to engage Sam in serious training. Hand-eye coordination was proving to be a huge stepping stone and Dean resolved to help Sam overcome it through hand to hand combat drills.

However, training with Sam wasn't without its pitfalls. The first time Sam had rushed Dean and misjudged his position, he'd tumbled heavily to the ground and knocked himself out. Training incidents happened all of the time, even with two good eyes, but Dean would have been lying if he hadn't admitted that seeing Sam sprawled awkwardly on his stomach across the hard ground like that hadn't scared the crap out of him.

He'd hunkered down over his brother, unsure of whether to move him or not, and had been on the verge of calling for help when Sam had rolled himself over with a groan and sat up. To his surprise, Sam had been willing to shake it off and continue training but Dean had insisted on helping him inside and then had proceeded to baby him.

"Dean, please, I'm fine. If you have to hover could you please do it from your side of the room? You're making me claustrophobic," Sam huffed after Dean snugged the covers up to his chin...for the third time in the last thirty minutes. He appreciated Dean's help, he certainly couldn't have made it this far without him, but he needed a little space.

Dean didn't know if he should miffed at Sam's attitude or pleased. After all, Sam was showing a little fire. It was easier to work with than quiet, compliant Sam. He'd take it as a positive sign. Anything positive at this point was welcome.

----------

The next day Sam insisted on training again. Dean was a little skeptical, as well as worried, but agreed to it. He didn't want to stop Sam's momentum.

Dean was already outside, setting up an obstacle course of sorts for Sam to practice with, when he got a good look at his approaching brother. Sam had fashioned a red bandana around his head to cover the right eye.

Blinking his eyes he looked again. Between his long hair, gleaming white teeth, and the bandana, his brother resembled a pirate.

Uncertain of Sam's current emotional state, Dean might have showed a little restraint but laughter was great for stress relief and both brothers had been maxed out on stress lately. Upon seeing his brother's latest fashion endeavor, Dean couldn't prevent the mirth from exploding out of him. "Ahoy there matey!" he greeted, before laughter burst from his mouth.

Sam huffed in annoyance. "Cut the crap, Dean. Dr. McHugh suggested I try an eye patch. He thought it might help my good eye adapt to the mono vision." When Dean continued to laugh, Sam put his hands on his hips and glared.

Dean tried to control his laughter. "I hate to break it to you, but that's a bandana, not an eye patch. You're definitely working the early Captain Jack Sparrow look. I'm thinking you maybe need to grow a beard and add a little eye liner, though," he said, before bending over at the waist as his laughter got the best of him again.

Sam was not amused. "Knock it off, you're not funny." He was frowning at Dean, his cheeks pink with embarrassment. Or anger. Dean couldn't tell which but it only added to the picture his brother made.

Dean's laughter tapered to a stop and he tried to get serious. He tried but failed miserably. "If I don't stop are you going to make me walk the plank?" he asked his brother. Laughter once again shook his body.

Sam narrowed his eye in concentration which should have been a clue. "I think that can be arranged," he replied, walking up next to Dean who was trying to stifle his snickering.

Before Dean knew what had happened, he found himself on his back, lying on the hard ground, staring dazedly up at his brother.

Now it was Sam who was cracking up as he looked down at Dean. His white teeth gleaming against his lightly tanned skin, his hair mussed from the breeze, red bandana firmly affixed around his head covering his eye...he really did look like a pirate. Not that Dean was going to comment on it. He was still smarting from getting thrown on his back.

Dean hadn't seen that move coming.

As a peace offering, Dean bought Sam a black eye patch sold at a local drugstore which was easier to put on and remove.

Progress.

----------

Dr. McHugh had said most people adapted to acquired monocular vision loss within one year. Dean believed his brother, who had always been ahead of the curve when it came to achievements, had managed to accomplish this feat within six months.

Dean had trained with Sam daily for the last three months and Sam had worked hard to conquer his disability and it showed. He no longer experienced dizziness, having conquered his orientation problems. His depth perception and mobility were back on target. Even his hand-eye coordination rivaled that of most people who had two working eyes – he'd shown Dean up on more than one occasion playing video games and shooting pool.

It was time to put Sam through his paces. But first Dean needed to persuade Sam of that.

Dean had found the perfect first job. The Karsten Inn in Kewaunee, Wisconsin, was reputed to be haunted. Lately activity had been picking up. Agatha, the formerly friendly ghost, had started picking on the crew who were there to refurbish the historic hotel.

"I think you're ready," Dean stated as he crossed his arms across his chest. "It shouldn't be anything too complicated. You could do this job," Dean was on the verge of saying blindfolded but didn't want to remind Sam of his eye and instead settled for, "while sleepwalking. Quit worrying."

Dean was a man on a mission and soon had Sam ensconced in the car.

"At least let's wait a day or two. Give me a chance to research things a little more carefully," Sam asked his brother, doubt clearly showing on his face.

"No, Sam, now. You're ready. Maybe past ready. Let's do it," Dean declared. He knew Sam was hesitant, even understood it, but waiting wasn't going to make his first job since the accident any easier. It was time to take the bull by the horns.

Sam wasn't sure he was ready. What if he screwed up and Dean got hurt? But he also didn't want to let his brother down. Dean had shown amazing patience with him since the accident and he wanted to show his appreciation somehow. Nothing said thank you like agreeing to a hunt.

Dean took Sam's hesitancy as agreement and started up the Impala. "We'll slip in the back and cover the hotel floor by floor, working our way up. We'll hit the third floor. That's where the most sightings have occurred. I've already put together the herb packets we used in Kansas. It'll be a snap, you'll see," Dean said.

Sam was nervous. He felt like his future was riding on the success or failure of this job. Or perhaps he should say his future with Dean. If he couldn't hack it he'd be left out of Dean's favorite endeavor and although he knew Dean would never leave him behind, he wouldn't be able to share completely in his brother's life. And Dean was all he had left.

Sam's dream of returning to school had gone up in flames at the same time Jess had died. He'd just been a little slow to catch on to that fact. Spending time with Dean was all he had left to look forward to and he didn't delude himself into thinking they had all that much time. The Yellow Eyed Demon would eventually make his way back around to him and what chance did a one eyed cripple have against a yellow eyed demon?

"So tell me again about Agatha…" Sam requested as the brother's left Two Rivers behind and headed for Kewaunee.

"Agatha, or Aggie as the locals called her, became pregnant at age 21 after a local farmer supposedly raped her. Agatha's parents raised her daughter as one of their own, but needed financial help, so Agatha joined the Karsten Hotel's housekeeping staff. She resided in room #310. What I can't figure out is why she's haunting the Karsten Inn. She died in 1954 at her family's farm, not at the hotel," Dean summarized Aggie's story for Sam.

"And tell me again why we aren't going to salt and burn?" Sam asked quietly. He knew Dean would have thoroughly checked everything out but he needed to make sure there weren't any surprises.

"Cremated," Dean replied back, glancing at his brother. He could hear the wheels turning in his brother's head but he didn't know if he was going to try to talk Dean out of the job or if he had decided to embrace it. He was relieved when Sam nodded his head. It looked like he and Dean were on the same page. It felt good to be on the job again.

Dean pulled the Impala around to the back of the stately building. Sam grabbed their bags as Dean jimmied the back service door open. It was after 11:00 p.m. and the building was dark; the construction crew was long gone and the hotel had closed to accommodate the renovations.

Withdrawing flashlights from the bag, Sam handed one to Dean and they made their way through each floor, making a hole and depositing an herb laden bag in each corner until they reached the third floor. Home to Aggie.

Dean signaled Sam to head to the southwest corner of the floor. They knew to be on the lookout for poltergeist activity. Sam remembered vividly the last time they had been in this position back in Kansas and he didn't relish the thought of having a lamp cord twisted around his neck again.

Dean also remembered their last similar job. When he'd found Sam lying limply on the floor that night he'd thought for sure Sam was a goner. And that was when Sam had two good eyes. Things were different now.

Taking a deep breath, he reminded himself to focus. He headed off in the opposite direction as Sam and made quick work of those two corners.

Dean was striding toward the other end of the floor when he heard a commotion. A brisk wind whipped through the hallway and threatened to tip him over the banister.

"Sam?!" Dean screamed as he ran toward his brother's last known location. The wind was making it hard for him to keep his feet and as he bounced off a wall he felt a light panel and quickly flipped the switches. He needed to see what was happening.

Sam was pinned up against the wall by a heavy ladder and Dean watched as a male in overalls moved toward him shaking his fist.

Dean scooped up the fallen packet of herbs and ran for the far corner. Suddenly the lights cut out and Dean stumbled over a fallen piece of debris. His head cracked against the corner of a work table and his vision grayed out.

In the moment before the lights went out, Sam watched as "Farmer Bob" reversed his trajectory and made for Dean. He heaved the ladder away from his aching side and scrambled toward the area where he had heard Dean land heavily. His foot nudged a bag and he wasted no time in pulling out a gun filled with rock salt.

Sam's bobbing flashlight picked up movement hovering over his prone brother's form and he pumped a round into the specter. With a screech it faded away from view.

Sam wanted to run to Dean and check on his condition but he knew he didn't have much time. Taking the butt of the gun he broke through the plaster in the last corner and was about to drop the herbs into the hole when he was violently lifted off his feet and slammed into the wall.

He shook of the dizziness and found the discarded herb packet at his feet. He couldn't see the hole through the pitch black darkness and he knew the ghostly farmer stood between him and his goal.

Lurching to his feet he stumbled away from the corner, trying to lead the ghost away. He felt something swipe at his back and almost went down but managed to stay on his feet.

Sam juked to his left and then spun to his right, his blindside, and whipped the herb packet toward the corner.

It was part basketball jump shot and part baseball curve ball and he held his breath in anticipation. This was like some of the exercises Dean had made him do and at the time he had thought them stupid but he now reconsidered.

Sam found himself airborne again but before he could hit the floor a flash of light fanned out across the room. He'd done it. Farmer Bob was gone.

As the light faded, so did Sam's consciousness and he allowed himself to sink into the darkness.

-----

Dean awoke to complete darkness with a throbbing head. He lifted his hand and felt a trickle of wetness on his chin. Damn, that hurt. He fished around and found a penlight in his pocket. There, on his left, he spotted the large flashlight. And past the flashlight he saw Sam lying still on the floor.

"Sammy!" he cried as he lurched to his feet and weaved toward his brother, pausing long enough to grab the flashlight. He dropped to his knees and moved the light across his brother's limp body.

Was Sam breathing? He didn't think so. His chest wasn't moving.

They were both well aware of the risks each time they went out on a hunt but he remembered coaxing Sam into this job. His brother wasn't sure he was ready but Dean knew he could do it. And he had more than held his own, but at what price?

His own breathing came in great gasps, panic setting in, as he readied himself to start mouth to mouth resuscitation. Dean firmly pinched his brother's nostrils closed while leaning forward.

Sam's eye suddenly snapped open and he jerked upright. His forehead collided with Dean's chin and both brothers groaned before falling to the floor.

"Ug. Sorry. Are you okay?" Sam asked as he fought the dizziness swirling around him to roll to his knees.

"Just peachy," Dean's pained response answered him. "Did you get him?"

"You mean the ghost that wasn't Aggie? Yeah, he's gone," Sam said as he pulled himself to his feet. He swayed for a moment in place before reaching down and tugging Dean to his feet.

"What took you so long?" Dean retorted with his trademark cocky banter. He was just putting up a front. In reality he couldn't wait to take some pain reliever. And it felt as though he'd grown another chin.

Sam appreciated Dean's gesture and wanted to reply in kind but he was too sore and tired. He was proud that his training with Dean had paid off but he felt nauseous and wanted to get the hell out of the Karsten Inn.

Dean flashed the light over Sam and saw him reeling in place. "Come on, let's get back to our motel," he said as he took charge again. He somehow got both of them down the back stairwell and into the Impala. He didn't remember much of the ride back to Two Rivers and breathed a sigh of relief as they pulled into their parking lot.

Dean had to pull Sam out of the car but then it was anyone's guess as to who was holding whom up. They staggered gratefully into their room and sunk down on their beds.

"You look just like Dudley Do-Right," Sam started to laugh as he got his first good look at Dean. "Are you okay?" he asked as he sobered a little. Dean's chin was red and raw looking and he really did resemble the Canadian Mountie cartoon character with his new double chin.

"I'll be fine. Yuck it up, Pirate Boy. Just wait until you see yourself in the mirror," Dean said as he took in Sam's disheveled appearance. His patch was askew and a bruise was starting to darken the right side of his face resembling a beard. "How do you feel?"

Sam touched the right side of his face gingerly and winced. He hurt all over but it didn't diminish his feeling of accomplishment. It hadn't been pretty but he'd pulled his weight on this job. "I'm good."

Dean stared at his brother intently until Sam objected. "Dude, what are you staring at?"

Dean shook his head, declining to answer. There was so much he wanted to say. He was proud of the way Sam had handled himself. Not just with the hunt but throughout this whole ordeal. Then there was the accident they'd never talked about. Dean wanted to apologize for his part in it but he'd never had the chance. But he didn't want to spoil the moment. Just for a minute or two, he wanted to bask in the success of the moment. Sam's success.

His brother had come such a long way in the last six months. And Dean knew he would only get better.

"You did good, kiddo," Dean murmured as he reached forward and messed Sam's hair. It was the kind of thing he used to do to Sam when he was an appearance conscious teen and he still got a kick out of the way his brother crinkled up his nose and frowned when he did it.

At least this was a safer way to mess with his brother than his prank with the map in the car which had led to Sam's detached retina.

Sam couldn't help the grin that split his face. Words like that from Dean were high praise. He tucked it away in the corner of his brain where he could dwell on it later.

Sam knew that this hunt had been anything but perfect but it gave him something to build upon.

For the first time in a long time, he had hope. It was a good feeling.

It was quite a change because for so long he'd been mired in despair. One moment he'd been finding his way again, recovering from the deaths of first his girlfriend and then his father, adjusting to life on the road with his brother. With no warning or time to prepare, things changed drastically once again -- literally in the time it took to blink an eye they were faced with a new challenge. But thanks to Dean he was coping.

Together the Winchesters made a formidable team. And together Sam hoped they would stay for a long time.

Finis

A/N: This fic was supposed to be posted back in April but I became disenchanted with it. With the patient prodding of beta extraordinaire, Faye Dartmouth, I finally worked up the courage to play with it some more. Thank you, Faye.

There really is a Karsten Inn in Kewaunee, Wisconsin, and it really is supposedly haunted by Aggie. I made her acquaintance there about five years ago when I was the sole occupant of the third floor. Well, actually it turns out it was just the night clerk clunking around that floor in his boots but it certainly made an impression on me. I could have used the help of Sam and Dean that night.

Thank you for reading the story.


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